Things Unattempted Yet
by Rambling Scribe
Summary: "Is there a particular reason you're here?" he asks.  World history has been made over the last few days - perhaps Ruth and Harry can make some history of their own. *Possible slight spoiler for S10*


**Disclaimer: Spooks belongs to Kudos and the BBC. The pub and the beer belong to their respective owners. Title is taken from **_**Paradise Lost**_** by John Milton.**

**A/N: Something slightly more serious reflecting recent news stories although it might have gone a wee bit fluffy at the end…**

**Spoiler: There is a vague reference to something from the S10 press release that could be construed as a spoiler. Just so you know. **

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><p><em>Yet from those flames<br>No light, but rather darkness visible. _

**_Paradise Lost. Book I - _John Milton**

**-x-x-x-**

She's almost given up, assumes he's taken himself off the tourist trail and found a quiet backstreet pub. He won't have gone home, she knows that much; he never does after days like today, not straightaway. He'll walk for a while and then go and have a drink somewhere. But not his club; he rarely sets foot in there now.

Dust and dirt blows along Clink Street towards her and she dips her head down in an attempt to protect her face. A small piece of grit gets into her right eye and she has to stop for a moment to dislodge it; she's still blinking away tears when she starts walking again. Despite the sunshine, the holiday weekend has turned decidedly chilly so, although she's reluctant to stop looking, she decides that this will have to be the last place she tries.

The _Old Thameside Inn_ is not one of Harry's usual haunts but she remembers they'd come here once, for Colin's birthday. Back in the days when things had been less complicated, _they_ had been less complicated. When her only concern had been whether another glass of wine might make her less guarded, more daring.

Ruth sidesteps a couple of tourists gawping at The Golden Hinde and crosses the stone flags towards the raised seating area outside the pub. It takes a moment or two but then she sees Harry; he's sitting at one of the wooden tables, his attention apparently focussed on the river. She makes her way towards him, aware of the occasional curious glances from some of the pub's other patrons.

"Hi."

She's not sure he's heard her but then he looks up.

"Hello. How did you know I'd be here?"

"I didn't. I've been in every pub on the South Bank, and a few more besides."

Harry laughs. "A veritable pub crawl. Dimitri will be proud."

"Not that proud. It was a non-alcoholic pub crawl."

"Then don't mention that part."

Although he's smiling, Ruth can tell he's not really interested in a hypothetical conversation between her and Dimitri so she waits for the inevitable question.

"Is there a particular reason you're here?" he asks, not unkindly but with an expectation of candour on her part.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay. And get a bit of a head start on tomorrow."

He nods, slowly, analysing her answer. "You're supposed to be enjoying your day off."

"I was. I am." Suddenly nervous, she pushes her hands into her coat pockets. "But I thought you might want to chat. It's been quite a weekend, after all."

He's quiet for so long that she's beginning to think she's made a mistake coming here but then he speaks.

"A chat would be good but let me get you a drink first."

Relief floods through her. "No, no, I'll get them. What do you want?"

"A pint of _Old Peculiar_, please. And no witty comments."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Harry is considering giving up his riverside view and retreating to the warmth of the pub when Ruth returns with their drinks. He takes a sip of his beer as she settles herself in the seat opposite him.

"What are you drinking?" he asks, inclining his head towards the other pint glass on the table.

"Cider. I thought I'd have a change."

"I wouldn't have thought it was your thing."

"That sounds like you've been making assumptions about me."

"Not any more, Ruth."

He doesn't hide his feelings these days – there's no point. But she hasn't quite got used to it so she looks away from him.

"Not much of a birthday for you this year," he says, saving her from further awkwardness. "Not much of a weekend, either."

They'd worked through till late on Friday; Saturday had been a full debrief with the Met, the Home Office, the Lord Chamberlain's Office and all points in between. And on Sunday, whilst Ruth had been wading through a backlog of email, Harry had been stuck in a stuffy conference room with assorted senior civil servants and politicians all trying to claim credit for the success of the royal wedding. He'd returned to the Grid exhausted and bad tempered, and sent everyone home.

"Do you think we could've got away with putting in a request for the Palace to move the wedding to a more convenient date?" Ruth asks.

"Probably not," Harry replies. "We'll have to see if we can do better for you next year."

"Hmm. Best not to tempt fate, especially after today."

"True."

"When did you hear?

"Just after 4.30 this morning. Five minutes after that, the PM found out, and what he'd hope would be a quiet day with the family at Chequers got completely bolloxed." Harry smiles, wryly. "Still, I suppose we should be grateful the cousins didn't decide to do it last week. That would've made Friday even more stressful."

"Timing-"

She stops, abruptly, and he sees the flash of regret in her eyes.

"-is everything," he says. "Something I've had a couple of sharp lessons in over the last few months."

They sit in silence for a few moments, both looking out over the river.

"People think it's the end," remarks Harry. "They assume bin Laden's death means al Qaeda is no more. _Let joy be unconfined_." He pauses before adding, "and you probably think that's very cynical of me."

"No, I think it's realistic. The politicians need to temper their rejoicing. It isn't the end. Maybe just the end of the beginning."

"And the beginning of the end?" He shakes his head. "Christ, Ruth. It's most definitely not _joy unconfined_ with us."

She considers her response. "I think we're a bit on the jaded side, Harry. Not to mention tired." She glances around her and then leans towards him. "Are COBRA meeting again tomorrow?"

Harry nods. "Probably. Once JTAC have had a chance to assess the overnight reports."

"The threat level won't be getting reduced any time soon."

"No."

"I think we could be in for a busy summer."

"It'll give us some practice for next year."

"The Diamond Jubilee and the Olympics. Quite the double."

Harry sighs, heavily, and Ruth senses a change of subject approaching.

"How's life in the flat without Beth?" he asks.

Her instincts were right.

"The place seems quite empty without her, which is a bit odd given she was foisted on me." Ruth sips her drink. "I don't know. I do miss her sometimes. Although it's nice to have the fridge to myself again. And the bathroom."

"It's good to have your own space, isn't it?" She's about to agree with him when he continues, "but it's also good to have company."

"Er, yes, and yes," she replies, puzzled.

"Come home with me."

"What?"

"Come home with me."

"Are you propositioning me?"

"No. Maybe." He shrugs. "Anyway, there's a very bouncy Jack Russell that would love to see you."

Ruth laughs. "Well, that's the decider then. Have you got any food in?"

"Yes. I was hoping to have a quiet day too. Bit of a lie in. Long walk with Scarlett and then a roast dinner."

"Well, one out of three is not bad."

Harry smiles at her. "And an evening with you will more than make up for missing out on the other two."

**-x-**

They go back to his place. Scarlett is almost delirious with joy to see Ruth. They walk her, have dinner and then wash the dishes.

Afterwards, they go to bed, together.

At 3.23 am she wakes him up to tell him she loves him. Over breakfast, she admits she wishes she'd said yes to his proposal.

Six weeks later, she moves in.

They get married on his fifty-eighth birthday and honeymoon in the Cotswolds.

In the new year, he applies for early retirement.

At Easter, they buy a cottage in the country.

There are no neighbours.

They find plenty to do.

_The End_

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><p><strong>AN:**_** 'Let joy be unconfined'**_** comes from 'Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: Canto the Third' by Lord Byron.**

**Thanks for reading. **


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